


I Think That I Can't Live Without It

by EstherRuth



Series: Habit [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Forbidden Love, Half-Sibling Incest, Jealousy, Making Up, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Possessive Behavior, Secret Relationship, The Starks are all alive and a crime family, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstherRuth/pseuds/EstherRuth
Summary: “Then get over here right now,” he orders her. He doesn’t ask. No, he commands. That’s how it’s always been. Hears her breath hitch.“I’m on my way.”---Jon and Sansa know their love is wrong. But with their family, it might be the only thing keeping them sane.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Habit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794751
Comments: 20
Kudos: 154





	I Think That I Can't Live Without It

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of vignettes focused on Jon and Sansa with the Starks as a crime family. Mafia-related stuff is more of a background detail for dysfunctional family dynamics that might lead to a relationship like theirs. All characters are flawed and some of the existing canon family problems for the Starks are essentially up to eleven here. Let me know what you think since I've never written a series before and it feels a little out of my comfort zone! Title of the fic and the series taken from the song "Habit" by Ought.

Jon’s out of prison after six months for the drug deal gone bad. He’s still pissed off about it. Being the boss man’s son was supposed to grant you more protection. There were supposed to be people to fall on the grenade for you.

But then Robb is the heir and Jon is just the bastard spare. And so Jon fell on the grenade to protect Robb from his screw-up. He grits his teeth and drops his bag on the bed of his shabby hotel room. He’s still too pissed to see his father and his brother. Arya helps him pay for the room but tells him he’s pathetic for staying here.

“Where’s Sansa?” he asks, not in the mood to deal with Arya’s temper and wondering about his other sister’s whereabouts. Arya sets some toiletries on the counter just outside the bathroom and doesn’t even look back at him when she responds.

“At home,” she says.

Jon lays back on the bed and rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Tell her to come over here.”

“You tell her, Jon, that’s not my job,” Arya says with the same kind of irritation that had laced Jon’s own voice.

Jon sighs and rests his hands beneath his head. “She’s still pissed at me,” he says.

Arya is back in the room, rooting through her purse for her phone. He wants to hope she’s going to call Sansa, but he’s pretty sure she’s just texting Gendry. “And that is your problem, not mine,” she says.

Jon sits up in frustration. “Come on, Arya. Just call her for me. I’m supposed to be your favorite.”

“Don’t even,” she says, pointing at him and glaring. “It isn’t my fault you and Sansa don’t know how to open your fucking mouths and talk to each other. Be a grown-ass man, Jon, and talk to her yourself.”

Jon scowls, huffing as he crosses his arms, aware he is being childish but unable to stop. “And what about Lannister? He still sniffing around?” Jon snarls.

Jon hates the fucker with a passion. Thinking he could have Sansa—marry Sansa. Their father, the big boss man, sure wanted it to happen. He lets his son go to prison and tries to sell his daughter to a Lannister.

“What do you think?” Arya says, putting her phone away and slinging her purse over her shoulder, clearly bored with his line of questioning. “I’m going. You call her, talk to her, ask her to come over, or get off your sorry ass and go see her.” She opens the door of the hotel room and looks back at him. “Or don’t. Like I said, not my problem,” she smiles at him in a way he knows really means _fuck you Jon_ and then she’s gone.

He grabs the phone Arya left him, already with Sansa listed in his contacts. He knows her number by heart, but this is faster. At least Arya gave him this. At least she knew he needed it. He’s like a fucking crack addict, he knows, needing his fix. But it’s been six fucking months he’d spent in prison.

She’d come to see him, of course. But she was still pissed at him the last time. Jon breathes and starts to call her, and he notices his hands are shaking.

“Hello?”

“Sansa.”

“Jon?”

“It’s me,” he says stupidly. “I’m out.”

For a minute there’s no sound on the other end. “Why aren’t you home?”

“I’m at The Ariel, room 305,” he says. She knows the place. Knows it well. He remembers the first time he’d taken her to this place, the night of her junior prom.

The night her shit date had run off with another girl and Jon had taken her virginity.

Sansa sighs. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why are you _there_ and not _here_?”

The breath in his lungs deflates. “I don’t want to see them, Sansa. Not now,” he tells her. He can’t see Robb or their father right now. He just can’t.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me you were getting out?” she asks, something in her voice sounding small and vulnerable. Betrayed.

“No.” He slumps back on the bed, moves the phone from one ear to the other. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me or see me. I tried to get Arya to call you and tell you to come over.”

She snorted. “Didn’t work, huh?”

“Nope. She said I had to do it myself.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Sansa says. Something about it ticks him off. He’s just about had it with his sisters’ criticisms, he thinks.

“How’s your fiancé?” he spits at her.

“He’s not my fiancé,” she snaps at him. 

“Does he know that? Does big boss man dad know that?” he asks.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Fucking pour out all this shit on me like it’s _my_ fault, Jon,” she says testily. He hears her breathing a little heavier. Feels his own chest rise and fall a little faster. Closes his eyes.

“Is he or is he not your fiancé, Sansa?” he asks.

“He’s not, Jon.”

There’s something desperate in his voice he can’t hide when he next speaks, faltering. “Are you his?”

“No, Jon. I don’t have a ring. I don’t have anything from him.”

He inhales deeply and opens his eyes. He knows what he needs. She knows it too. It hangs over both of them inescapably, even over the phone.

“Who do you belong to, Sansa?” he asks in a deep, husky voice, already palming his crotch for relief. Knows he has to wait for her.

“You, Jon,” she says, her voice thick and smoky and it makes him groan.

“Then get over here right now,” he orders her. He doesn’t ask. No, he commands. That’s how it’s always been. Hears her breath hitch.

“I’m on my way.”

\---

He shoves her against the door. Thrusts his tongue into her mouth. Pins her wrists just above her head. Forces his thigh between her legs, encouraging her to rub against him, giving her that friction she needs. She’s wearing a pretty, short white skirt.

Just for him.

They’re all panting breaths and twisted limbs and grunts as they grind against each other. Jon hooks his hands beneath her thighs, turning them around and practically throwing her on the bed before taking off his shirt and covering her body with his own.

When words failed, their bodies could always do the talking.

“Has he touched you, Sansa? Have you done anything with him?” he growls at her, rucking up her skirt.

“No,” she gasps when he touches her bare skin, palming her thighs.

“Good,” he mutters, kissing her ankle as he pulls off her underwear. If they had, he would have to kill the fucker for touching what belonged to Jon.

Honestly, he might just kill the fucker anyway. He leans down to kiss her, but she pulls his hair and forces him to look her in the eyes. “And what about you, Jon? Have you touched anyone else? Done anything with anyone else?”

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but the notion of it is just so ridiculous and it slips out of him. She glares at him, shoving him off her and moving to get out of bed. “Fuck you, Jon,” she spits, and he grabs her by the waist, pulling her back before she can get away. He’s stronger than her. Her back is to his chest and she’s wrestling on his lap.

He moves to pin her wrists down, trying to stop her frantic motions. “Hey, hey,” he says softly, but it somehow has an edge too. Something authoritative to it. She’s still squirming to get away. “ _Stop_ , Sansa. I was laughing because it was funny to me that you could even _think it_ , sweetheart.” He presses a soft kiss to the back of her neck, and she shivers. “I’ve never once been with another woman, never touched or even looked at anybody else Sansa. It’s you, always. I’ve always been yours. Just like you’re mine.”

She must believe him because she relaxes in his arms. And it is true. She’d taken his virginity that night too. He’s never wanted anyone else. Not since the first time he’d touched her. She’s in his veins now, under his skin. He couldn’t get her out even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to. He never has, even if he knows he probably _should._ She’s turning to face him, and he helps her straddle him, her thighs on either side of his hips. She leans forward to kiss him and as their tongues dance together his hands roam all over her body, lifting up her top and she pulls it off. No bra. God, he loves this woman. He kneads her breasts and then his hands reach up until he’s gripping her red hair between his fingers, bucking up into her as she pushes him back and unbuttons his pants.

“Sansa,” he groans against her mouth as she sinks onto him. It’s been too long—and he knows it will be frantic and over quickly. She’s riding him shamelessly and he fucks up into her, pushing his feet into the mattress for leverage, clutching her body to his. Her flesh in his hands, gripping tightly, pressing into her skin. He has to feel her; has to touch her. He needs her in all the ways he shouldn’t.

And he’s not even sorry for it.

And when she shatters atop him, he cums inside her hard and with such force he can’t see straight. The room feels dizzy around him. And as they come back down to earth together, he keeps her right there, hugging her close. If there is such a thing as soulmates, he knows that Sansa is his, sister or not.

“Stay,” he tells her softly.

She snorts. “I’m still pissed at you,” she says. As she lies atop him, he feels the rise and fall of her chest against his own.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

She sighs. “And how long do you plan on staying here?” she asks, reaching up to play with the whiskers of his beard.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I just don’t want to see them right now.” The notion of seeing the whole Stark clan utterly exhausts him.

She props herself up on her elbow and studies his face. She is gorgeous. She always had been. He didn’t know how he got so lucky. “Say you’re sorry again,” she commands, voice small and shaky.

He knows he hurt her. Lashed out when he was in pain and it wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry, Sansa,” he tells her sincerely, caressing one of her wrists before bringing it up to his lips to place a soft kiss. “I’m really sorry.”

Her big blue eyes look at him, assessing for sincerity; he thinks she has to know. How could she not by now? He never could lie to her really. And after all these years, she knows him better than anyone else, just as he knows her. She bites her lip. “I’m no whore, Jon.”

“I know that, Sansa. _Fuck,_ I know that.”

She lifts herself off him and for a moment he’s terrified she’s leaving, but she just collects her top and puts it back on, rests her back against the headboard. It is a sea-foam green. Ariel, the hotel, like the mermaid. Red hair, like Sansa. His seventeen-year-old self had thought it romantic. Now it’s become their place of sorts.

“I haven’t done anything with him, Jon,” she says. Her eyes are accusing but gentled somewhat by the hurt in them.

“I know. I didn’t mean it,” he says.

Jon couldn’t forget his cruel words the day she’d told him she went to dinner with Jaime Lannister. _Go on and play the whore for Daddy Ned._

He’d taken her to some fancy restaurant their dad had recommended, hoping that Jaime and Sansa would marry eventually. Gangsters could be oddly old-fashioned in a sense. At least when it came to their daughters. Jaime taking Sansa to dinner was supposed to be the initiation of his “courting” her. He knew Lannister and their father would be planning a proposal, finally joining the prominent families. Jon had said it that day, and the flash of hurt in her expression immediately washed all anger from him and he wished like hell he could take it back.

Every prison visit of hers after that was stilted and Sansa refused to discuss it with him at all, even though he’d been itching for the chance to properly grovel. It killed him too—not knowing if she kept seeing the man because she’d refused to tell him until now (and now that she had, he hoped that meant she was forgiving him). Jon’s worst fear was that she’d become engaged to the Lannister prick because he’d driven her away.

“It was one dinner. I couldn’t say no to dinner, Jon,” she says.

“I know,” he tells her.

“It would have been a huge insult to refuse one simple dinner,” she says.

“I know.”

“That doesn’t mean I slept with him or accepted some proposal,” she says.

He closes his eyes and sighs. “I know.”

“Would you have expected me to turn down dinner, knowing what it would mean to the Lannister family?”

He opens his eyes again and looks at her. “No.” 

“But?”

He sits up. “It was hard to hear about you going to dinner with some prick while I was in prison, Sansa. I fucked up. I was lonely without you and I was scared of losing you. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was scared and hurt, okay? I need you to understand where it came from at least. I _am_ sorry, Sansa.”

She leans forward and takes his hand. He doesn’t deserve her comfort. He doesn’t deserve her. He never has. But he supposes he’s selfish because he takes everything she will give him anyway. “You’re not going to lose me, Jon.”

He smiles lightly. There’s a tremor beneath it though. One he pulls back. “I know. I love you, Sansa.”

“I love you too,” she said.

They were going to be okay, Jon realized. She was forgiving him. The relief he feels turns him slightly giddy and he launches himself toward her and she squeals as he bites playfully on her neck and buries his face in her hair. “Stay,” he says, one hand going to her waist to grip her to him.

“Okay,” she answers. Her fingers climb up one of his shoulders. “And no more going to prison.”

He laughs. “I’ll try to avoid it in the future,” he says.

“Good,” she says, and he hears something of the spoiled, haughty Sansa of her earlier years—always used to getting her way. It makes him smile, warmth in his chest.

“And how about no more dinners with Jaime fucking Lannister?” he asks.

“Hopefully, I said yes once. I don’t have to again. But Jon, you know that doesn’t mean Jaime or dad are going to give up immediately.”

He groans. “Ugh, if only we could just tell them you’re fucking your brother.”

“Jon!” She gasps and swats at his chest.

He reaches up to whisper in her ear, letting his breath tickle her skin. “Is that too vulgar for your sensibilities, _my lady_?”

“Yes, it is,” she says, but he can feel her subtly rubbing her thighs together.

“Hmm…you don’t want me to talk about fucking you, Sansa?” he asks and reaches up to squeeze one of her breasts, rubbing his thumb over her nipple.

“ _Jon,”_ she gasps, though in a different way now.

“Don’t want me to talk about all the different ways I’ve fucked you? Pounding you into the bed with your legs up in the air on my shoulders, you riding my cock, me taking you from behind? Fucking you on our father’s office desk?”

She’s always so scandalized but it never fails to get her hot.

“Jon,” she whines. He pulls back to fuse her mouth to his in a sloppy kiss, shoving her legs apart and bringing himself to rest in between them.

And they fuck again. He could go all night if she’d let him, but she usually hits her limit at about three times in a night. He remembers her once telling him: _I have to be able to walk the next day, Jon._ He’d smirked and felt a swell of pride at that. After that, he’d kinda wanted to leave her unable to walk. Hell, he’d carry her everywhere knowing it was him that did that to her.

He knows they’ll have to leave this hotel at some point. He’ll have to see their family. But for now, it’s just them. Just Jon and Sansa and that’s all he wants.


End file.
